And
though--though I refused you the other day--I wanted you--dreadfully,
dreadfully. If--if I had only been good enough for you--But--but--I'm
not!" She broke off, battling with herself.
He was still holding her face between his hands, and there was something
of insistence, something that even bordered upon ruthlessness, in his
hold. Though the tears were running down her face, he would not let her
go.
"Will you tell me what you mean by that?" he said, his voice very low.
"Or--must I ask Eustace?"
She started. There was that in his tone that made her wince inexplicably.
"Oh no," she said, "no! I'll tell you myself--if--if you must know."
"I am afraid I must," he said, and for all their resolution, the words
had a sound of deadly weariness. He let her go slowly as he uttered them.
"Sit down!" he said gently. "And please don't tremble! There is nothing
to make you afraid."
She dropped into the chair he indicated, and made a desperate effort to
calm herself. He stood beside her with the absolute patience of one
accustomed to long waiting.
After a few moments, she put up a quivering hand, seeking his. He took it
instantly, and as his fingers closed firmly upon her own, she found
courage.
"I didn't want you to know," she whispered. "But I--I see now--it's
better that you should. There's no other way--of making you understand.
It's just this--just this!" She swallowed hard, striving to control the
piteous trembling of her voice.
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